


A Dance of Drag

by ellethom



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Not My Fault, This may have cured that writer's block tho, i am weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:50:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellethom/pseuds/ellethom
Summary: I have no idea.





	A Dance of Drag

Tyrion sat across from his older brother. A dead silence had invaded each space of the cavernous dining room. He took another long pull from his beer and belched. “So are we gonna-”

“No,” Jaime intoned from his spot. “We are never going to speak of it. Ever.”

A feral grin morphed over the smaller man’s features. “But, did you at least get pictures?”

Jaime slammed his beer down onto the ancient weirwood table. “We are never speaking of this.” he repeated.

The tall form came to his side, Jaime was grateful for her presence. “Jaime,” Brienne said, her large hand covering his. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“One doesn't simply be ‘okay’ after witnessing the Patriarch of one’s family in such a state.” Tyrion reached for another beer. “I daresay our Jaime will be traumatized for quite some time.”

“Such a state?” Brienne, always one for honest, frank vocalizations of reality. “Your father was dancing around the ballroom in a mini skirt and six inch heels.” 

Jaime gave his girlfriend what was, possibly, the first angry glare of their still budding relationship. “Can we honestly just let this go?” He said, trying to ignore Tyrion’s guffaw of laughter. “I am gonna need a lifetime of eyebleach to get that image out of my head." Jaime took a long swig of beer for emphasis, then reached for the bottle of Scotch that had been sitting between the brothers

The silence descended again. Tyrion had wrangled his laughter into a silent smirk, mostly with help from the fifty year old Scotch he had opened. The three could hear the grandfather clock tick and the near silent shuffle of the servants cleaning up from dinner. 

Brienne still held Jaime’s hand, Tyrion noted the closeness between the two. “Soooo…” he tried again. 

“No,” Jaime returned again with another angry glare.

Brienne patted Jaime’s hand again. “He does have great legs.” she said, “I see where you get them.”


End file.
